


Couldn't Utter My Love When It Mattered Most

by MissBirdy



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bad coping mechanisms, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Drinking to Cope, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drugs, Heavy Drinking, I'll add on if i need to, M/M, Nightmares, This is a dark fic, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, drinking to sleep, potential self harm, takes place post worms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29548170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBirdy/pseuds/MissBirdy
Summary: This is my first ever fic so I'm still messing with storyline but! Martin didn't experiment with alcohol/drugs as a teen/young adult and now he's an adult and doesn't know how to not use them as a coping mechanism.
Relationships: Jmart - Relationship, Jon "The Archivist" Sims/Martin Blackwood, Jon/Martin - Relationship, Jonathan "Jon" Sims/Martin Blackwood, Jonmartin - Relationship, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Tipping Point

Martin didn’t really get to _be_ a teenager, or young adult. Not like most would expect. He didn’t take opportunities to go to parties, try alcohol or drugs. He didn’t have time. What with his father being gone and his mother falling ill. He certainly hadn’t had any extra money to spend on those kinds of things. Every bit he made, he put toward taking care of his family, even if his mother hated him and he didn’t know why. Not to mention that his size and quiet demeanor made him the perfect target for bullying and he therefore didn’t have many friends who would invite him to do those things. It didn’t bother him, not really. He assumed they hurt others because they were hurting too. That’s how it was with his family anyway… just a spiral of sadness. When he finally did have the opportunity to have a drink at a holiday party back when he worked in the Magnus Institute Library, he found that not only was the stuff rather unpleasant, but that despite being heavier that most of his coworkers, he was also a bit of a lightweight. He nursed a single drink for most of the evening and still felt the warmth of it in his stomach and head as he sipped at it. 

He had only smoked weed a couple of times, with Tim in a mostly empty room in the back of the archives where they wouldn’t be caught. He didn’t particularly enjoy it. The body high was nice, but the smoke made him cough and his eyes stung and watered with every hit. Not something he was interested in getting used to. He would still join Tim for a break every now and then, just chatting while Tim smoked. Martin found it a nice way to spend his breaks rather than just in the break room or at his desk with a mug of tea. He supposed he could spend it with Sasha, but she was hard to talk to, and didn’t seem interested in getting high with Tim. And then, there was Jon. Jon of course would probably skin them alive if he found out that not only were they smoking on the job, but using a lighter anywhere near the statements. Even if they were in a side room. Given the opportunity, Martin would absolutely spend his breaks with Jon, smitten as he was with the smaller, brooding man. He hated admitting to himself that he found Jon to be absolutely lovely, but there was something about him. Something in the tiny crease in his brow that would form as he scanned the statements. The way his dark brown hair, streaked with silver at the temples from stress, would slip sometimes in front of his glasses and he would brush it back behind his ear with his delicate, nimble fingers. Something that made Martin’s heart ache with longing. Longing to break past the walls, to see what was behind those guarded eyes. To show Jon that not everyone is out to hurt him.

But Jon didn’t take breaks. At least, not outside of his office. Martin wasn’t sure Jon ate to be honest. The most he had seen was that once Jon accepted the mug of tea Martin had offered him on a particularly bitter cold day earlier that spring. 

___________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Martin's general sobriety lasted until the worms. God, the worms. He didn’t think he would ever quite recover from the paranoia of feeling phantom worms on his skin. Brushing at things that weren’t there. When he moved into the Archives, after shuffling around boxes in one of the many half-empty storage rooms to set out a cot, he purchased a bottle of vodka from a nearby shop “ _Just to calm the nerves a little._ ” he’d thought to himself as he cracked the seal on the bottle and poured a bit into an empty mug that had previously contained his tea. He lifted the mug to his nose, sniffed out of curiosity and immediately pulled back at the sharp scent.

“Ugh...terrible. Can’t believe people drink this for fun” he muttered to himself swirling the liquid in the bottom of his mug while he worked up the courage to drink it. The archives were silent and he glanced at his watch, 12:15am. He needed to get to sleep. Everyone had left for the night. Even Jon didn’t usually stay this late. 

He closed his eyes and lifted the mug to his mouth, looking up and tossing it all back at once, his face contorting at the bitter sting of the vodka. A shiver ran through his body and the back of his throat burned “Ugh.” Martin wasn’t sure it was even worth it to drink the vile stuff just to get some rest. He sighed, setting the empty mug on the floor and tucking the bottle back behind a stack of boxes near the head of his cot. Last thing he needed was someone coming in and seeing that he was drinking at his place of employment, even if it was off the clock. He flicked off the light and took off the khaki slacks he had worn during the day, folding them and setting them on an empty shelf in a bookcase against the wall. The cot creaked quietly as he sat back down and swung his feet up under the blanket. The room was chilly, as it wasn’t as well heated as the main rooms of the Archives, but with his knit jumper, he’d make do. The vodka had begun to work its way into his system. He could feel his shoulders relax, his head was becoming pleasantly fuzzy, and soon enough, he was asleep. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Two weeks later, Martin had begun to adjust to the taste of the alcohol. He didn’t mean to have some every night. And he did _try_ to sleep without it, but he would always end up lying awake into the wee hours of the morning with his thoughts wandering. He would listen to the whirr of the heaters and the creaks of the old building. He would occasionally hear the wind, if it blew hard enough, or the soft hiss of the late spring rain against the little horizontal window that sat towards the top of the wall above his cot. On bad nights, his thoughts would turn to the worms. The sound of their squirms echoing in his head were loud in the silence of the night. It was nearly unbearable. Those were the nights when he turned to the drink fastest. Anything to quiet the horror of those little monsters in his head, to keep them from appearing in his sight when he would close his eyes, coming after him. Unfortunately the vodka did not stop him from dreaming, and when he unwittingly thought of the worms, his sleep was always fitful. He would wake multiple times a night, sweating and shaking, brushing and scratching at his arms and legs, heart pounding. He would lie there, praying for sleep, tears leaking from his eyes and leaving wet spots on his pillow and dampening his hair.

Alone in the Archives, his thoughts would also of course, turn to Jon. Sometimes they were lustful, imagining the touch of Jons lovely fingers on his skin, in his hair.....in his mouth. The feeling of Jon against him, speaking his name...and other things, softly in his ear. Getting himself off to thoughts of Jon, hips bucking, heat rising in his chest and face, softly whispering his name until he got his release. Breathless and finally clear headed, he would drift off. 

Other times, it was just thoughts of Jon being there. With him, holding him, keeping him safe, keeping the thoughts of darkness and fear at bay simply by being there. Those nights left him feeling alone and empty when faced with the reality of the fact that Jon wouldn’t, couldn’t ever reciprocate his feelings. Why would he have any interest in Martin? Jon was intelligent, Jon actually **had** the degree that was on his CV. Jon was beautiful and strong and competent. Martin was….well. Just Martin. Clumsy and dull, couldn’t even get through uni, too kind, too timid, weak and fearful of the bugs outside, and drinking to get to sleep. Terrible. There was nothing about him that Jon would find attractive, he was sure of it. And that thought broke his heart. He would drink more heavily those nights, hoping that the alcohol would put him out more quickly so that he didn’t have to be alone with his own sad, sorry thoughts. 

____________________________________________________________________________

It was one late morning, almost noon, when he was caught. He’d had more to drink than he had intended and was still sleeping it off. The thoughts of the worms had flooded his head and any time he closed his eyes, there they were again. He had picked the bottle up directly off the floor and drank from it, coughing hard against the taste and feeling bile rise in his throat as his breath shuddered out of his body. At 11:40, he was still lying in the cot and out cold, a sheen of sweat on his forehead from the tossing and turning. 

Jon poked his head out of his office and asked Tim if he’d seen Martin yet that day.  
  


“Nothin yet boss. Need something?”

“Nothing vital just yet.” Jon had replied, “Just wondering about a document I asked him to track down yesterday. When you have a moment, see if you can find him and send him over.” And swung the door to his office closed before Tim had a chance to reply. Tim sighed loudly and rolled his eyes “Reduced to a simple messenger man, eh? I don’t remember that being on the job description.” He called, just loud enough that he could be sure Jon heard him. Tim had said it with a smile in his voice though. Giving Jon a hard time was one of his favorite pastimes from way back in uni when they had been in a band together. Jon had a good singing voice but was terribly shy about it, and Tim always found a way to bring it up, earning him only half annoyed glares and eyerolls from Jon. 

Tim drained the last of his now lukewarm coffee from his cup and stood up from his desk, heading for the back of the Archives. Down a hall and around a corner to a more unused and secluded storage room. He assumed that Martin was probably still shuffling through documents looking for the needle in the haystack for Jon. Things were damn near impossible to track down in these old rooms and he feared the day that Jon decided that they all needed to be gone through and sorted. Maybe he’d find a way to call in sick that day. Upon arriving at the room Martin was in, he rapped sharply on the doorframe and swung the door halfway open.

“Hey mate! Jon wanted me to come check up and see if you’d--...” Tim stopped short as Martin, who was very much not awake and looking through documents, shot up and immediately groaned, putting one hand to his head and holding up the other hand to block some of the light that streamed in from behind where Tim stood in the doorway. 

“Tim! I-, Ohh, God ow…..shit. P-please, close the door, my head….” 

Tim took in the sight before him. In addition to the original, now empty bottle of vodka that Martin had purchased two weeks earlier, there was now a second empty bottle on the floor, half under the cot, and a third, half empty bottle tucked partway behind a stack of boxes nearby, all surrounded by stacks of mismatched documents that Martin had been looking through the day before.

“Martin, good God, you alright?” Tim stepped inside the room and closed the door gently. 

“I mean, guess that’s sort of a stupid question isn’t it. Obviously you’re not. No alright person would be going through that much alcohol.”

The only words Martin could get out between the throbbing of his head and the waves of nausea rolling in his stomach were “Please,….please don’t tell Jon”.

Tim sighed and sat down against the closed door, across from Martin. 

“I won’t tell him. At least not yet. But you need to tell me what the hell is going on here.”


	2. Lifeboat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin tells Tim some of his issues, but boy still isn't ready to talk about his feelings towards Jon. Maybe next chapter when he has a drink with Tim. However, he also is now aware that (at least) one of his coworkers has drugs in his desk. Perhaps that'll be good information for him to remember in chapter 3 as well.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with more spooky worms, nightmares, and drinking.

There was no getting out of it. No convincing Tim that he was fine, that he didn’t need help, that he had just been surprised. His head was pounding and his limbs were heavy and sore. He thought back on the night before as he tried to settle into a somewhat comfortable position before talking things through with Tim. It had been bad. The panic he had felt was nearly as bad as the first time it had all come crashing down. The day that got him staying in the Archives in the first place. He had already had more than he should have to try and get to sleep before the thoughts of the worms were too much. He knew he was developing a dependency, but he just wanted to sleep. Wanted to turn his brain off and rest. Get away from the day to day grind of the Archives in combination of the nagging fear of the worms finding him, and the pining he felt for Jon. But of course his brain couldn’t let him have any peace, even while he was asleep, and he dreamed that the swarm did come back. That it devoured everything in its path, and that it got Jon, and there was nothing he could do. He watched in his dream, as Jon was reduced to a squirming mass of flesh, and his mangled voice called out to Martin “Why? ...why won’t you help me? You’re failing me!” Martin had woken in a panic, thrashing in an attempt to brush off the dream-worms, he was sobbing, the words that dream-Jon had spoken seemed to permeate the darkness. You’re failing me. Martin’s brain really did know how to push all the buttons to hurt him the most. In a desperate attempt to make it stop, Martin had gone straight to the bottle. Not bothering to turn on a light or even feel around for his empty mug from the day before. He swallowed down far too much, and, after who knows how long, he finally blacked out.    
________________

He told this all to Tim, save for the bits about Jon. He told him that he saw all of the Archives devoured by the worms, that the stress was keeping him from sleeping and when he did, it was always fitful and full of awful dreams. He told Tim that he felt like he wasn’t good enough to be on the team. That this was how he was coping. He didn’t know any better way. He had always had to set his own feelings aside in order to take care of his family. 

He wasn’t quite ready to admit to someone else that he had feelings for Jon, he could barely admit it to himself.

Tim nodded as he listened silently. He didn’t stop Martin to ask anything or to try to convince him that what he was doing was dangerous to his health (Martin knew it was dangerous, of course). And when Martin's words stopped tumbling from his lips, Tim sighed heavily. 

“Right Martin, look. I’m not gonna try and tell you how to deal with these things. I’m not anywhere near being a therapist. And I’m not going to tell you you need to spend more time around other people, even though you should. What I am going to tell you,” he said, standing and putting his hands on his hips “Is that I’m not letting you drink tonight, mostly because I don’t think you’d be able to handle it. And secondly, I’m going to tell you that next time you want to have a drink to wind down, that you can come out to the pub with me and we’ll grab a drink there, like real, human people.” Tim lifted an eyebrow in emphasis to Martin, who had started to shake his head but the pain was too much to allow for full movement. 

“I’m not leaving. I’m staying here. It’s not safe for me to go back out yet, I can feel it.” Martin insisted to Tim. Tim nodded and Martin thought that perhaps Tim would just leave him be, and let him drink himself to sleep. 

“That’s fine, I’ve got a bottle stashed away in my desk with my other recreational items. We can have a drink here after closing time. Just let me know when you’re feeling up to it. And don’t worry about the documents, I’ll cover for you for today.” And before Martin could protest, he stepped across the room where Martin sat cross legged on the bed, sat down next to him and gave him a quick one armed hug. “S’gonna be alright, Mate. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.” And he left. Closing the door quietly behind him. 

Martin let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding “Thank you…” he whispered into the still air, and he slowly lay back down, rested his aching head against the cool of the pillow and drifted back into sleep.

____________________________________________________________________________

Tim huffed as he walked down the hall and back towards the main Archive. What the hell was he going to do? He wasn’t going to tell Jon. Not yet. He had promised Martin that and he intended to keep his word for the time being. As much as he wanted to bring both Jon and Sasha back there and have an intervention. He and Jon had both seen enough of this kind of thing back in uni to know that it probably wasn’t going to get better any time soon. His thought briefly of their friend Ash and a pang of grief sparked in his chest as he remembered Jon screaming at him from the dorm bathroom, and they had been too late...He wouldn’t let that happen again. He didn’t think he or Jon could handle that again. But he shook his head. It was early enough that things would still be fine. He believed that Martin would reach out if he really needed help, and hey, maybe this experience would put Martin off to the alcohol enough to make him stop all together. 

Tim knocked on Jon’s office door and swung it open “Uh, hey boss!”

Jon looked up from the statement he had been reading aloud, giving Tim an exasperated glare for interrupting him “Yes, what? Did you find Martin?”

“Yeah, he uh. He ate something bad last night and isn’t quite able to get up today. I wouldn’t go in if I were you. It's pretty nasty. He said he hadn’t found the document you needed and to apologize to you.”

Jon sighed, the statement he needed more documents for would just have to wait. “Fine, that’s fine. Mow if you don’t mind, I’m in the middle of a statement.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, alright I’m gone!” Tim waved a hand at Jon and turned, closing the door as he left and he faintly heard Jon say “ _ statement resumes _ ” as he retreated back toward his desk. Thank God Jon believed him.

Tim checked in on Martin again that evening, bringing him some water and a piece of toast from the break room. Martin was at least conscious when Tim tapped quietly on the door this time. 

“Tim? Come in.” He rasped, when Tim asked if he was awake.

The door opened and Tim stepped inside, nudging the door closed with the side of his foot as he walked in. “Brought you some water and a bite to help settle you down.” He said, setting the glass of water on the floor and the plate with toast on the cot next to Martin as the larger man sat up on the cot. He still felt sluggish and a little sick, but his sleep had been mostly peaceful, if not solid that day and he thanked Tim as he took a nibble of the toast. 

“Of course, it’s what friends are for!” Tim said, “Just try not to make a habit of it, eh?” 

Martin couldn’t promise that, but he did offer up a smile to Tim, and that seemed to be convincing enough to him as he gave a quick nod and stood up from the edge of the cot. 

“Right, I’m getting out of here before it gets too late, otherwise we’re going to be having a staff sleepover!” Tim flashed Martin a grin, “See you tomorrow Mate.” And with that he was gone. Leaving Martin to finish the water and toast alone. He finally was feeling a little closer to normal around 9 that night and he elected to take another quick look for the document that Jon had needed. Of course it was sitting at the top of the next box he pulled the tape off of. Martin scanned the document “There you are you little fiend” he muttered, “Lets go drop you off at Jon’s desk before I try to get more sleep.”

  
  


The archives were dark as he made his way down the hall and to Jon’s office. The dark wooden floors were cold on his bare feet and they creaked a little as he stepped up to the door. He almost knocked out of habit, and sighed a small laugh at himself. It was nearing 10pm. Jon had gone home probably around 7:30, if he had kept to his usual schedule. Martin’s heart fluttered at the thought of Jon but he pushed it aside.  _ No time for that right now. _ He thought to himself.  _ Just dropping off some papers. That’s all.  _ He picked up a blank scrap of paper from Jon’s desk and searched the top of the desk for a pen. None to be seen. Of course of all the disaster that Jon had on top of his desk, he  _ would _ put all his pens back in the drawer at the end of the day. Martin smiled in spite of himself. He went around to the chair side of Jon’s desk and pulled open the top right drawer. Just papers and tapes, a spare recorder, and…? A prescription bottle? Martin let his curiosity get the best of him and he picked up the bottle, scanning the bottle label 

**Jonathan E. Sims**

**DOB: 9/1/1987**

**Amphetamine/Dextroamphetamine: 15mg tablets**

**Take one pill by mouth daily as needed.**

  
  


Ahh. Martin had had a childhood friend who took the same thing. Aderall as it was more commonly known. It didn’t surprise him that Jon (probably) had ADHD. He also didn’t believe that Jon ever used the medication, as much as he seemed to hyperfocus on his work. He placed the pill bottle back where he found it and pulled open the top left. There they were. A few mismatched pens, most of them dented with tooth marks from Jon chewing them in thought. Martin allowed himself a moment to dwell on the thought of Jon absently chewing a pen while working through statements. Simple and lovely. He sighed softly, feeling a pang in his chest as he again, reminded himself that Jon was not, and would not be interested in him. He scratched down a quick note and put the pen back in the drawer where he’d found it.

_ “Jon,  _

_ Found the extra document you asked about! _

_ My apologies for falling so ill today, _ _  
_ _ hope it didn’t disrupt your work too terribly. _

_ -Martin” _

He paperclipped the note to the document and left them in the center of Jon’s desk where he would find them the next morning. Mission completed, Martin slipped back out of Jon’s office and made his way back through the silent shelves to his room and his cot, to try and get a little more rest before the dreams and stress fully crept back into his head. He knew he needed to stop, but he also knew that believing that he could quit cold turkey now was foolish. Maybe he would let Tim drink with him next time.

Probably not. 

But maybe. 


End file.
